Many Happy Returns
by Darklady
Summary: CloneJack! returns to the SGC a man with a mission. Warning slash inside!


Many Happy Returns

Darklady

Warning : Slash! involved. I won't say who/when/where. I won't ruin the suprise.

Season: Post Season 10. Spoilers for 7x3 'Fragile Balance' also 8x13 'It's Good to be King' plus faint references to season 10 promotions.

Summary: CloneJack returns to the SGC - a man with a mission.

--\V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/--

You had to give them credit for subtlety.

not

The Air Force recruiters had waited a full three days after 'Jon O'Neill's' 18th birthday before trying the recruitment bit. Pair of poster board Looies with a table full of flyers. Reminded him of male Carters on speed.

Unfortunately for them, his inner Jack had not only heard it all before, he vaguely remembered writing the damn thing. Plus he clearly remembered the crap of Basic, pure shit of a shithead that was Captain Willis, and the utter fucking over that was the first, last, and middle of his happy vacation at the Iraq Hilton.

Plus he remembered the poverty wages of his First Lieutenant years, the miserable base housing of his early years with Sara, and... not to belabor the point or anything... remembered the substantial checks that Colonel O'Neill had countersigned for not only Daniel Jackson ( hey - the kid deserved it ) but for Rothman and Lee and other latecomers to the civilian 'geek squad'.

So while flying was still a very good thing , enlisting was most definitely NOT.

Especially as Uncle Sam was already paying for his education, housing, health care - fill in the blanks - and this time he didn't even have to get his ass shot off.

To coin a cliché?

'Sweet'.

Next guy was a Captain with a briefcase. Jon figured he was moving up in the world. He also figured that this was a little too much love, and that a little recon was in order. (Jack Sr. via Carter via Cassie ) Upside of which was learning he'd made General. Downside was learning he had to die to get promoted. (Well. Sorta. But hey - he'd always said they'd promote him again only over somebody's dead body.) Weird side was the whole funky-Ancient-gene big-honkin'-space-gun one-guy-in-a-million DNA lottery thing.

Which explained why the Joint Chiefs wanted him back.

And here he'd thought it was his charming personality.

Right

The third guy showed at his apartment with eagles and an attitude.

The Lieutenant Colonel brought up the wonderful career possibilities of the SGC - and the not so wonderful alternative career of a lab rat for the NID. After which Jon mentioned his personal confidence that he could shoot any NID bastard who crossed him. Plus his equally strong belief that regular officers might not be exactly exempt. Especially if they went around making stupid threats. (Hey - he was sixty, fer chrissake. He had a right to be grumpy!)

Fourth guy was Paul Davis. With a six-pack. (Proving not everyone from DC was a moron.)

They had a nice little chat over hockey and pizza. Well, mostly Jon had talked and Davis had listened. Except for the little bit at the end. The briefing-memo version of which was:  
1) Homeword Security's supply of Ancient operators was down to O'Neill senior, some chopper-jockey who was listed for early separation, and a Scot neurotic who gave a whole new meaning to the term 'friendly fire'.  
2) Of these, numbers two and three were headed off-word for a mission of unspecified ( and possibly eternal) duration.  
Meaning that  
3) Earth's best remaining defense was a sixty-year-old with bad knees, high cholesterol, and rising blood pressure who tended to vanish on short (read zero) notice every time that Asgard got twitchy.

Under the circumstances? Davis was sure Jon would understand why Hammond and company were so... motivated... to see his happy face back in Cheyenne. And why, while everyone would prefer to do this politely, there was no absolute proof that a court wouldn't rule that Jack and Jon were not in fact one person. In which case he could simply be reactivated. To McMurdo.

In which case, Jon pointed out, he would also be a Brigadier General. Even in McMurdo. So how bad could it be?

At which time Davis pointed out that even a general officer could be demoted. To airman.

At which point Jon brought up the idea of reasonable cause. Which any JAG would point out they had none. Not to mention the joy of finding a lawyer ( other than present company ) with the clearance to even hear about the Stargate.

At which point they both got serious.

--\V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/--

"You need to sign in here, sir. Name and time."

Jon O'Neill was already checking the clock behind the security desk.

1300

He was missing his graduation. Which was no big shock, seeing as how he had missed the previous one was well.

Wednesday night had been well on to being Thursday morning before Davis had left with his copy of the no-one-needs-to-know burn-before-reading agreement between J.J. O'Neill (part duex) and the SGC ( international and officially civilian version.) By Thursday lunch Jon had been signed out for early graduation, and by Thursday night he and an overnight bag had been deadheading on a military training flight bound for DC. 

Georgetown University. Alma Matter to the rich, the brilliant, the politically connected, and apparently - occasionally - the random genetic sport who was none of the above, but who was evidently useful to the type of people who were.

Friday had been his SAT and college entrance exams. Saturday at had started with the President of the college, detoured though the admissions office, and ended around 0-dark-hundred when he had stumbled back to the men's residence. Might have been Sunday by then. Between the time change and Davis's insistence that he ( meaning Jon) challenge out of every possible class they could imagine him passing, Jon hadn't known, hadn't cared, and hadn't had the energy to ask if he had. Sunday had been a blur - a mix of food and sleep. Thankfully. By 8 am Monday J. O'Neill had found himself attending class CATH-145. (Catholic Peacemaking. Not his best class. Seems the professor had a slightly different perspective as to the role of a P-60 in securing inter-group harmony.)

That had pretty much set the pattern for his college career. Doing 24 credit hours a semester, he had time to eat, study, and on rare occasion sleep. Period. Which meant that - for the second time - the Air Force managed to stiff him out of a shot at chasing pretty blond co-eds over spring break. But it also meant that 20 months later ( a.k.a. now ) he was walking out with the oh-so-requisite degree. Double major; military history and political science. He would have preferred something a little more 'solid' - like aeronautical engineering - but the lab time would have slowed him down to maybe 18 hours and Davis was pushing the near-hysterical edge of 'just can't wait'. As it was, he had only managed because the school had agreed to accept Latin and Coptic as his required languages. Well. Ancient and Goa'uld, but since no one outside of the Mountain knew the difference? And Danny wasn't talking? They just figured Jon had a really crappy accent. Whatever. He wasn't planing on talking to them anyway.

T.A. kree!

" I need to see your... You have ID?" The airman's voice slid away on the last word. Like he started to say driver's license, then wasn't sure Jack had one.

Fuck. So he hadn't been able to bulk up as much as he wanted. Jon shrugged. At least he had his full height now. Within an inch or so. He had always been the string bean type. Put that with six class hours a day and twice that in the library, and what the hell did they expect? G.I. Joe?

Jon passed over his driver's license, waiting while the Airman typed in all the relevant numbers.

Not that college hadn't had it's good points.

Friends. (A few)

College girls... umm... women. ( Again - a few. Damn few. But ... more than in high school. More available too. Jon was too old to be comfortable with jailbait. Too busy to play the dating game. Grad students, on the other hand? Sweet.)

Plus he was sorta getting the whole meaning-of-life intellectual-gratification thing Daniel had been so keen on. Not to the Danny degree, of course. He was a long LONG way from the degrees of Daniel. But he was just sayin...

"This is your visitor's pass. Keep it visible at all times. Personnel will arrange for a permanent pass if you stay longer than three days. They also issue parking permits. If you have a car?" The last was half a question.

"Left it back in DC."

With a frat brother. Who could use it. Who had orders to sell it if Jack didn't call for it within the month.

Yep.

Fraternity brother.

He had pledged. More for the convenience of the frat house ( two blocks from the main library ) then for the social life ( dancing people wearing togas sorta pushed his 'oops' button after... ya know ) but they had still mostly been great guys. Smart. Not Carter-and-Daniel smart. More Hailey and Felger smart. Dumb smart. But still, it had been good to just... listen... again.

Plus there was the whole thing about knowing the assholes of tomorrow before they became assholes.

Jon wasn't gonna go for General again. Well, probably not. But he was going somewhere. Which meant at some point he was gonna need allies. Which Davis knew better then most. Which is why Davis had pushed him into Georgetown and not Colorado Springs Community College.

"The elevator on your left, sir." The airman behind the desk passed over a temporary badge. Also handed him over to a second guide. SF. Seriously more serious then the kid that had been his morning driver. Which ya had ta expect. Not enough cleared personnel to waste them picking one civilian up at the airport.

The others waited while Jon clipped the badge carefully to the collar of his corduroy jacket. Not what he'd planned on wearing today. (That was, in addition to the funky black robe that he had paid for and also wasn't wearing.) He did own a decent suit. Blue even. Just...? DC at noon had ta be thirty degrees warmer than Cheyenne at dawn. At least.

Maybe he should have worn it anyway? Not for Hammond. Hammond had known Jack. Jon. Whoever. But Hammond was gone and the new guy?

Couldn't be too bad, could he? Jon considered. He had picked him. He wouldn't have picked some asshole that he couldn't deal with, would he? Even if the he that had been doing the picking was an asshole these days he was still him so...

brain fart

Jon suddenly understood Jackson's headaches.

He needed a beer.

He needed a haircut too.

Not desperately. Not so much that he'd spend the time last week - what with finals and projects due. Last week he coulda shoved his head in a weedwacker and not noticed. (Hey - wait - hadn't 'big Jack' done that already? ) He'd planned on getting a trim this morning. Plenty of time before he was scheduled to walk. So he thought.

Just went to show. Didn't pay to think around the Air Force.

Should'a remembered that.

He followed his guide into the elevator, stepping automatically to the right. He pressed the button. Level twenty-one.

The SF looked surprised, but didn't say anything.

Jon gave him the look back. Don't need to be a genius to push a button.

He felt his ears pop as they slid into the slightly higher air pressure of the lower mountain. Guess it had been a while. You stopped noticing once your were down every day. He wondered if he'd be icing up again when he did the gate hop. Wondered if he'd be going though at all.

How long did it take for your molecules to revert anyway? Carter would have known. Carter had known everything.

Unlike Dr. Trenton. PHIL-390 - Just War in Theory and Practicewho only thought she knew everything. Like to see her try to 'cross culturally communicate' ( LING-333) with the damn Goa'uld.

"Corridor to your left, sir."

Interesting. Not straight to the General's briefing room. Well, unless they had moved it.

His eyes tracked the corridor.

Still gray. Still lots of painted lines. A few more people. Which could mean that things were hopping generally, or that things were going down specifically today. The first, he decided. No one looked frantic. Not beyond the usual six-cups-of-coffee gotta-do-this-yesterday pace that was SGC standard .

On the other hand? He was here. Which was a check in the end-of-the-world column.

Right?

"Second door on the right, sir."

Research Division

Anthro/Arch

At least by the little plastic square on the door.

Danny's folks.

Made more sense than Carter. Unless they wanted him to fly something. That woulda been cool. (His secret hope was that somewhere someone someday would find an Ancient rocket ship. Hey. Had ta happen. They couldn't have used the Gate for everything. Even a glowy squid had to get tired of walking. Plus the whole used-ta-be-people thing. So... just sayin... )

Little less sense then taking him straight to the General. He could still shoot. Plus... all those years of aikido? ( Had ta do something for P.E. High school hadn't had a hockey team. Plus college...? Gym nights helped him focus. Jon got twitchy if he sat for too long.) Plus running far faster these days. Hiking. (Again with the P.E., and the not-a-good-idea to get unused to hauling a pack.) Needed a little quality time with a P-60 maybe but... Jon was good to go.

And apparently... was going.

Somewhere.

He held out his pass to the harried-looking airman ( airwoman, actually ) at the desk inside. Four in boxes, two out. This was so Danny's space.

She checked the pass, then pointed to another door.

"Go on back. Mr. O'Neill. You're expected."

Conscripted, more like.

Although why they thought they needed an ancient 'Ancient' non-Colonel ( or was it non-General now? ) with two good knees and two lousy B.A.'s? ... Fucked if he knew.

Fucked if it mattered.

Fucked if any of it mattered.

Some if it had been interesting. Some of it had been frustrating. None of it had been important. What mattered was that it had brought him here. Now. Back to the Mountain. Back to the Stargate. Back ... home.

As the metal door slowly closed behind him he caught a few words from the two airmen.

His escort has evidently asked 'what's this about'... or some such.

Which the secretary couldn't answer. Although she tried. "His paperwork says 'requested by Dr. Jackson'."

The SF laughed. "One more for the geek squad."

--\V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/--

Small room.

Big table.

Coupla suits he didn't know. Plus Ferretti. Plus Carter.

Carter was... still hot. A little gray in the blonde. Not so you'd notice - just a few strands here and there. A little squint at the corner of the eyes. Still... she had it. And had it together.

Eagles on the shoulder were so her look.

Bet she'd be smashing in stars.

Ferretti... not so much. Ignoring the hotness thing, since he'd absolutely never ever considered Ferretti that way.

Daniel OK maybe. But Danny was Danny, and did not count against the general hetness. Not that Jon had as much of the het. Comparatively speaking. Georgetown vs. the Air Force Academy. Liberal Arts vs. Engineering. 2005 vs 1968. Three happy reasons for being very much more of the bi than Jack-the-old-fart. Not that Jon was getting enough to score on either side. Last two years it was more a left hand vs. right hand sort of difference. So to speak.

But back to the hotness that was Carter. And the hereness that was Carter. And the maybe if she was staying here? And maybe if he was staying here? He wondered if maybe her fixation on nief aliens was maybe sorta like a taste for younger men.

But back to Ferretti. Who was staring, and not in a 'Welcome Back Cotter' sorta way. More in a 'who let the dogs in' sorta way. Which meant if Jon-boy didn't want to be junior pup in the pile, he'd better piss on some turf right away.

"So" He gave the room his best grin "I'm wondering why you all called me here..."

\V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/

"Primarily we would like to think if this as a diplomatic mission..." Gray suit guy. Meaning that Jon couldn't read his rank, but he'd put money that it was a lot lower then the civi thought it was.

He's been introduced first off. Jon had slotted the name under retrieve-and-remember-if/when-useful.

Diplomatic mission. Right. And ya 'want a volunteer what don't owe you any money', Jon mentally quoted. He had thirty years in this man's army - if not in this man's body - and words like 'diplomatic mission' made his fingers itch for a P-60.

"Which would involve me... how? Because I have'ta tell you, if it's the Asgard? Thor knows I'm not... you know... him. So fifth race thing or not..."

"Not the Asgard. The Tarrlan." Earnest female Captain in starched blues. Jon mentally slotted her as Pentagon. The SG people tended to BDU's.

"Who-lan?"

"Mr. O'Neill. Given the date of your... separation... I believe your remember PTE-432?"

"Pee tee?"

"PTE-432." Strange guy number three. And in this case Jon did mean strange. Checked shirt. Bow tie. Clip board. This had to be one of Danny's kids. "The planet where you left Maybourne."

"I didn't leave him there. I left him with the Tok'ra. And they..."

Captain blue-shirt cut him off. "Took him to PTE-432. At your request."

Because the NID would have killed him. Or the USAF would'a tried him and fried him. And while Harry was irritating as hell, he sorta grew on a guy. Something like athlete's foot.

"Oh yeh... about that... That was a one time only sorta deal. He saved my ass. I saved his." Well, Jack saved Harry's. Because Harry saved Jack's. But if Jack had been killed any of those times then Jon would never have been... was it born?... so it was sorta Jon's ass. Sorta. But only sorta. So? One time only deal.

Jon shrugged. "If Harry got himself in trouble with the locals...?"

Ferretti cracked a smile. First one today. "They made him King."

Bow-tie nodded. "Divine prophet king."

"Oh. That's... different." Jon wasn't sure how but... different.

Captain blue-skirt winced.

Gray suit frowned.

Ferretti shrugged.

Jon was on his own.

"So you... what?" He looked to Carter, eyes begging. "Want me to go drag his ass home? Tell the locals they blew it?" And if so why was this his problem and why wasn't big-shit-General I'm-your-daddy Jack-the-ass being sent out to sweep his own shit?

"Oh no." Bow tie whimpered.

"God no!" Gray suit sputtered.

Carter nodded. "The SGC is quite... content... with Colonel Maybourne's current location."

Hell planet, Jon figured.

"King Arkhan." Bow-tie guy corrected Carter.

"Are-what?"

"His majesty King Arkhan the first, Protector of the Land, Guardian of the Gate, Speaker of the Ancient Truths..."

Seller of the Shit, from the sound of it.

Something must have shown on Jon's face, because the Captain cut in again. "His majesty has been a very reliable ally."

Ferretti translated that. "Meaning he didn't actually roll on the floor and cry when the General brought back that Ancient spaceship..."

"Ancient spaceship?" Jon practically jumped the man. "You have an ANCIENT SPACESHIP?"

"Yah well it's sorta..." Ferretti made a scrunchy move with his palms. Like it was sorta small. Or sorta caught in a trash compacter. Whatever. Jon's mind was still on the ANCIENT SPACESHIP!"

Gray suit cleared his throat. Not for real, in that make-noise-so-you-listen pay-attention-to-me way "If we could focus on the important..."

"Ancient spaceship. That's not important?"

"No." 

"Yes!" Bow-tie. Practically dropping his papers.

Captain blue-skirt's voice cut between them. "While of course important... in it's way... the recovered ship is not... of itself ... our immediate focus." She grabbed for the remote. Power point time.

The ghost of Danny rides still. Jon smiled at the memory. When all else fails - show slides.

A patch of wall now glowed with a snapshot of bucolic green. Stargate, wildflowers, trees. Gotta be trees.

"In addition to support against the Gou'ald..."

Clip two showed another field. This one with a cluster of Quonset huts. Three of them. So not exactly your major air base.

"... the government of the Tarrlan..."

Which would be Harry.

"... has allowed us access to significant Ancient remains."

Side three included a cluster of stone pillars. The sort of thing Daniel went orgasmic over. Plus lots of those slumpy piles of rock that meant tunnels. Dark, narrow, crumbly tunnel. The sort that lead to dark, crumbly rooms with bright achy machines. Jon had a headache at the memory.

"This another of those chair-and-squid things?"

"How does he...?" Ferretti. Not quite worried but...

"Mr. O'Neill has been to the Antarctic installation."

Right. His two week 'spring break'. While the chicks were in Cancun, or Cozamel, or the Cote' de Azure or any of those places with babes and beer, GS-4 O'Neill had been stuck in Mother Nature's ice box thinking 'openopenopen' at scraps of squid-shit. Most of which... didn't. And the ones that did? Did squat else. Jon had always known Omma was a bitch.

"Oh."

"Much more than that." Not that Jon could tell, since side four was another shot of field and rocks. "Maybourne's planet exists as an Ancient... time capsule, if you will. Not just the remains of an abandoned base, but an actual preserve of Ancient technology placed there before the Ascension."

"By which you aren't talking Jackson, right?" Cause it never hurt to check. Guy went glowy at the drop of a hat. Bomb. Whatever.

"An Ancient named..." Bow tied boy dived for his notes.

"George. Whatever." That was Daniel stuff. Wasn't like Jon was going drinking with the guy. (Wasn't like he was going drinking at all. Twenty. In Colorado. Shit.) "Ancient guy leaves stuff. You want stuff."

"With the new threat, Ancient technology is invaluable." Captain blue-skirt. Looking serious serious. "Especially technology left by a time traveler specifically intended to protect the Tauri in this time of transition."

Jon looked at Carter. "Big honkin' space gun?"

"So we hope."

Good enough. "So. He leaves stuff. You want stuff. Harry's got stuff." Jon considered for a moment. "Where do I come in?"

"We do have a party on PTE-432 already."

"Lemmie guess. They're not partying."

"They have run into some... difficulties."

"Spears? Staffs?" Jon took a not-so-wild guess. "Space ghosts?"

"Doors."

"Doors?"

"Doors." Ferretti reached for the remote. Three clicks brought them to a picture of a ... door. It was a door. Hinges. Knob. Door. Probably some big important guard-the-secret-of-the-universe Ancient ancient door but... door.

"And this is a problem because?"

"It's locked."

"And this is a problem because?

"Our people are on the inside. With some of the locals. And it's... locked."

OK. Problem.

"C4?"

"Tried it." Carter this time. Right. She would have. Woman loved a good bang. "Force field."

Serious problem.

"It opened last time for Dr. Chalmers. She also has the Ancient gene. But apparently it only opens from the outside."

"Don't tell me. Let me guess. She's one of the folks on the inside."

Everybody nodded yes at that. Even the suit.

"So you want me to go and just... knock on the door? Say Abracadabra? Open Sesame?"

"Effectively, yes." Carter made that wrap-this-up finger sign. "Dr. Jackson and SG-11 have made radio contact, and they are in no immediate danger, but obviously we would like them released as soon as possible."

"There is the question of supplies." Captain blue-skirt pitched in.

Yeh. Had to spring 'em before the geek-squad ran out of coffee. Armies might travel on their stomachs, but archeologists ran on caffeine.

"Plus the locals are... distressed."

Which could mean they'd be sending a nasty letter to Hammond, or they'd be sacrificing the next guy though the gate to the doorknob gods. Jack's luck? Jon knew which chance he'd bet on.

"We are under pressure here to move expeditiously. " Gray suit leaned closer. "There is concern that undue delay or any injury to the exploring party could have serious ...very serious... political repercussions."

Meaning Harry would roll on the ground and cry. Or whatever.

"So you need someone who can deal with Ancient tech... and Harry Maybourne."

Ferretti slapped his briefing binder shut. "Got it in one."

"Ancient door? No prob." Well, probably no prob. Plus if it was that was more Carter's gig. But he could go and knock and... no biggie. "Maybourne now? Not so sure. It's the other Jack who's the slimebag's fishing buddy." And hopefully Maybourne didn't know about Jon at all. Or else Jon-boy had better be sleeping with the lights on. 'Cause he didn't trust Maybourne as far as Hammond's granddaughter could throw him. The younger one. "So. You don't mind me asking? Why isn't the big guy the one doing the knock-knock thing?

Carter bit her lip. "The General would but he's... tied up just now."

--\V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/--

"Okey doky". Jon swept his eyes over the Stargate area. Grass. Rocks. Trees. What else was new? It looked just as green and bovine as the picture. Worse, even. " If I was a Ancient installation full of secret alien weapons, where would I be?" 

"This way, people." Ferretti matched his words with the usual finger motions. "Hailey to the rear. O'Neill. You're in the middle."

Carter had come though behind them. She gathered up her own people on the other side of the gate.

"Major. Stay in touch, and meet up at the palace once you're done. And Ferretti? Keep an eye on the kid."

Jon's eyes flashed to the Lieutenant, until he caught that Carter was looking at... HIM?... no way. NOT acceptable. First the airman dising him behind his back. Then General Jack-ass blowing him off. Now Carter? He made a mental note. Soon as this mission was over. Gotta find a way to remind Sam of what a big boy he really was. So to speak.

"Yes, ma'am." Ferretti grinned as he snapped off a salute. "OK folks. Follow me."

Half a mile or so down the not-a-path, once the others had spread out a bit, Ferretti fell back.  
"You OK with this, Jack?"

"Hiking? Piece of cake." Piece of very very stale cake. Or maybe a few too many pieces of cake. Because this walk in the park wasn't exactly a walk in the park. And yadayada. But... but not showin' that in front of ... well... pretty much anyone ever so...? He forced his posture up into 'perky'. "You know what they say. Younger, stronger, better."

"Sure. That part's cool but...I mean..."

"You're the Major, Major. I'm just a civilian here. No problem following you."

"Good." Satisfied, Ferretti started forward again.

"Although?" Jon waited about three beats. Just long enough for the freeze-and-turn. "No offense if I say I'd rather follow Carter?" He grinned. "I like your style -but I love watching her six."

Ferretti snorted. "Got me there, Jack. Who wouldn't?"

\V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/

Hour or so in ( And down. Gotta remember down. Foothill country here, and downhill is always the worst. ) the Major called a halt.

Hailey headed for the treeline. Dropped pack. Started sucking down Red-Bull. She was so the geek of the team.

Jon found himself automatically checking out the site.

Rocks? Check.

Trees? Check.

Bugs? slap Check.

He sighed. Silently. Just another day in paradise.

And - oh look, he snarked to himself. Welcome wagon has arrived. Renn-Faire chick a with crossbow. Backed up by minion-guy with crossbow. WIth a side order of peasant and crossbow.  
Beginning to see a theme here. And no one told me it would be a costume party. Lucky me, I dressed anyway. P-60. Always in style.

Ferretti didn't look worried about the newcomers. Irked? Yes. Peeved? Plenty. But shooting? Not. Leastwise not for now.

Jon leaned against a tree and watched.

Watched Major and major-babe do the Tauri two-step. The you-first that means not-gonna-trust-you-at-my-back, but where nobody says that. Ended with her on point and - big compromise here - one of her guys walking drag. Officially. Jon spotted that Ferretti picked the dumbest lout in the lump. Guy the lunch ladies could take out without breaking a sweat.

Speaking of sweat? Jon thought as he slid over to his trees ( inadequate) shady side. Weren't the Ancients supposed to like their climate like BC? Sun halfway up and temperature was feeling more DC. Humidity included. He considered going the Daniel-Jackson-boonie route. Nah. Better a roasted cool guy then a cool dweeb.

Not that the idiot airman back at the base got to him or anything but...

Ferretti dropped by again. "Doing good?"

"Peachy". Like a cobbler. Melting and bubbling. "What's with all the hiking anyway? All the geniuses we got, and they can't figure out how to get a hummer up a gate ramp?" Which, by the way, was a question Jack had been asking himself before Loki went all xerox on their now-mutual ass. Ya think, being the man and all, he could have done something about it. Ya think?

Ferretti was looking as red as Jon felt. Good time to pass him one of the water bottles. He toss it back gladly.

"Ya know?" Jon cracked a bottle for himself. "Ya think by now someone woulda at least sprung for Sedgeways."

"Maybe if Carter told 'em they were Naquada powered."

"Naquidria." Jon countered. "That way they'd blow up every third mission."

"And cost a billion each."

"Bought from a no-bid supplier in Kinsey's home town."

"Yeh. Then the GAA would sign on to it." Ferretti picked up his pack. "Meantime, we walk."

Jon fell into step behind him. "Could be worse. Could be raining."

Oops, Jon thought as the first drop hit his forehead. Shouldn't have said that.

--\V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/--

After lunch - and hey, a free shower - the crew stomped up to a big pile of rocks. Or, as Jackson would put it, a priceless and irreplaceable historical site holding treasured insights into the human condition.

Jon could tell Danny had been here. The site was flagged and marked for excavation. Whole checkerboard of little string square waiting to twist and ankle. God help you if you 'displace' one of them.

By the time he had carefully picked his way over the path (and he did mean carefully, seeing how Daniel Jackson with a squashed 'artifact' was more explosive then a SM-EOD. ) Lt. Hailey was already on the radio with crew inside the.. what did they say this was anyway? Temple? Tomb? Taco stand? Turned out everybody was fine, if a bit hungry. And wet. Door locks worked great. Roof? Not so much.

"According to the notes, you stand on the blue square and put your palm the red dot." Haily squinted at her little notebook, one hand raised to shield it from the still-falling rain.

"This archeology or twister?"

Pity Carter wasn't here. She'd be a lot more fun to tangle with. Heck, Teal'c would be more fun. Twenty years less age difference hadn't made Hailey even slightly more attractive.

Jon passed his rifle to Ferretti. He'd miss it but? Better to have both hands free.

"Here goes nothing."

Oops.

Nothing.

NOT good.

He looked at Ferretti, who looked at Hailey, who looked... pissed. Universe was supposed to work on demand. Her demand

She flipped a page. "Try putting your right foot in."

"And shake it all about?"

"By my calculations, cosign tangent would be best. There may be a photon-based trigger."

Crap! Didn't Lt. Egghead ever have a childhood? Take the left hand back. Try the right hand out. Put the right foot out. Then shake it all about.

Nope.

Still nothing.

I do the hoochie choochie. I get squat.

Should brought Teal'c.

He has rhythm.

Also a staff weapon.

Thinkin' staff weapon would be real handy right about now. Could maybe try C-4 but... burn mark on the floor. Souvenir of SG-11. Been here. Done that. No t-shirt.

"Why does the door not open?" Crossbow-chick is looking antsy.

Good question. Bob, I'll take 'fucked-up alien technology' for a thousand.

Ferretti made 'wait wait' noises. Effect? Zip. Zilch. Nada. Big whoop. He was never good with women. Which explains why three seconds later the crossbow is pointing downhill.

"You will free them!"

What? Jon sent back his you could die easy glare. Didn't it look like he was trying? Well, probably looked like having a zat-spasm. Things you gotta do for the SGC. He didn't recall any of his recruiting officers mentioning doing the funky chicken. Not either time.

"Nah." Jon slid one hand down the wall. Just in case there was a doorknob or something. Danny would probably find one but... another big whoop... Danny was inside. Exactly where he should not be. What a shock. "Thought I'd let em stay for a day or two. Paid vacation. Jackson probably could use the rest."

Oops. Someone bred out the sense of humor gene. Replaced it with the stick-up-the-ass gene. Must be related to Hailey.

"OPEN that door. I command you! In the name of Arkhan the Great."

"Who gives a shit because...?"

"Umm. Mr. O'Neill." Hailey's apparently read up to page three. "King Arkhan was with the investigative team when the door closed."

"So. What you're sayin is.. Harry's down there?"

Harry Maybourne. In a hole. Like a rat. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

"You will free our king now or you will suffer the consequences!"

Lemmie think. Consequences of a box o' Harry. What's that? Nattered to death? NOT shot in the back?And what channel was that radio on? Right. That one.

"Hey. Harry. How's it hangin?"

"Who is this."

"Call me Jon."

"O'Neill?"

Recognition. Isn't that sweet. Especially after three years waiting for my voice to drop. Good to see somethings are back to normal.

"Not quite. But you know what they say... good enough for government work."

And too damn good for Harry Maybourne. Not that I think Ferretti is gonna let me leave him down there. Attractive though the prospect might be.

Harry must have picked up the vibe, because the next voice over the speaker was Jackson.

"Jon. Don't want to hassle you or anything but... water? Rising?"

"Not good."

"Very."

Should maybe ask 'how deep', but apparently deep enough because I hear Harry grab back the radio.

"O'Neill! Damn you! Think of something!"

"I thinking. I'm thinking." Just not thinking thoughts that's all. Must have come though in the silence, because after a squeal and static bit it's Daniel talking again.

"Jon. I've found some writing down here. I've translated most of it..."

Can you say duh. Daniel Jackson could translate the marks on the inside of a crayon box. (And Carter could build a ray gun from the instructions. And Teal'c could figure out how to aim and fire it. And I miss working with geniuses damnit!)

"Anyway, I think I've figured out how it works."

Again with the big shock there.

"So why are you still down there?"

"Because I'm down here." Danny. Definitely pissy. Water must be cold. Either that or SG-11 forgot the Cadburys. "You have to push the red button."

"Did that."

"While pressing on the blue square just below the door."

"Did that too."

"And you have to really want me released."

Oops. Always some trick.

"That'll do for you. Tough on Maybourne."

Next thing over the radio is Danny. Snorting. Not entirely sounding disgusted there. At least 20 amusement. But then... he'd had to deal with Harry. Too damn often. Not even counting this cheery little picnic.

"Ja... Jon. Diplomacy!"

"Hey" Not easy to sound offended but... "I can do diplomacy. I got a degree in diplomacy."

"What." Harry had the radio back again. "Negotiating though superior firepower?"

"Works for me."

"You see why I'm the guy they made king."

"I see why you're the guy in the big deep hole."

Shuts him up a bit. Well,that, and... Jon turned off the radio. Not entirely because not hearing Harry had to count as a good thing. That but also... Radio antennas are long and thin and flexible and from the look of the floor stones? Since he was pretty damn sure the door was not gonna work? No matter how much he told it he was hot for Jackson's bod?

Jon extended the thin metal and slid it down cautiously into one of the wider cracks. It went down a few inches, then clicked. No luck.

He tried another spot, one near the wall where two big stones seemed to have shifted apart. At first it slid down but then... nope. The knob hit bottom. Jon could feel the shift as the antenna collapsed back. Third try and... YES! The wire wiggled a bit, then slid into open space.

Jon twisted the metal back and forth. No contact. There was definitely another room below where they were standing. Which meant...

"Major." Jon smiled at Ferretti. "You got anything that goes bang?"

"They tried to blow the door." Haily. Again the fount of all knowledge. Like any fountain - she spouts.

"Yeh well, there's doors and then there's..." Jon pulled back the radio. " Jackson? What's it look like down there"

"Large central chamber with columnar inscriptions reflecting..."

"Jackson!"

Ya leave 'em on their own for a couple of years and look what ya get. Gotta have a word with big Jack. Man's been falling down on the job.

"Big room." Jackson gets with the program. "Forty by forty. Doorway in the north wall leads to a tunnel."

"Door in that?"

"No."

Crap. On the other hand, no door means no door to get stuck so...

"Can you get everybody back down the tunnel? At least fifty feet?"

"Moving now."

See. Get 'em young. train 'em right.

"OK then." Ferretti was holding out a Claymore. Jon took it. A bit of digging with his knife widened the space in the floor just enough to slide the explosive down into the stone. "They go that way." He pointed down to where the underground tunnel would be. "We go this way." He gave Crossbow-girl a soft shove. Just to get her moving. " The trigger wire goes like this..." Jon strung it out as he walked backwards, careful to keep the rest of the company moving behind him. "And after a bit the whole thing goes..."

BOOM

There was a muffled thunder, accompanies by dust plumes and the crack of stone. Jon loved it when a plan came together. Or a floor came apart.

"You blew a hole in the floor!" One of the minions felt the need to be obvious.

"Ta da! What was a roof is now... ramp access." Jon peered over the edge of the split. Not exactly the Holland Tunnel down there. "Access for a skinny snake but still..."

Jon stepped back.

"Hailey? You take a rope and..."

Ferretti was already holding the rope and making 'crawl down there' gestures.

Haily looked like... all things considered, she'd rather be in Chicago.

Tough whoop, Jon snarked back. To himself but still. He'd do it himself but the Lieutenant was half his weight. No way she could drag him out if the shit hit. And Ferretti had packed on a good thirty pounds since Jon left the mountain so...?

The radio squealed.

"Just send the rope down, O'Neill." Harry.

"Your Majesty." Crossbow girl dropped to her knees, all giggle and gush. Nearly tumbled into the pit. "We will..."

"I can see the light from here. Just send down the rope and I'll crawl up."

Like he said. Harry. Rat. No dif. Jon tied a rock to one end of the rope ( for weight) while Hailey secured the other to a pillar. Hopefully one not weakened by the blast.

Three minutes later there was a jerk on the other end.

(No pun intended. Although? Gotta smile.)

Harry was twitching the line like a trout. "It's a little tight."

Jon leaned over. He could see Harry hanging maybe twenty feet below. "Try it without the fur coat."

"Good idea. I'll send that up first."

"Harry!"

"OK. OK. So I'll send the girl first."

By which he meant Dr. Chalmers. Chivalry is so dead. Between Ferretti and Jon they managed to hoist her up. WEARING the cape. Purple looked good on her. Sorta Miss-America-Crackhouse but... good. Specially with the wet t-shirt thing she had going.

Ferretti parted with a wet shirt to match.

Folks downstairs had gotten the hint. Hole was on the rough-and-narrow side, so you don't want any stray buttons or loops that might catch. Which pretty much defines a BDU. Better off coming up in skivvies.

Captain Henderson ( the SG-11 geek-in-residence) popped up next. He had Harry's crown and scepter tucked onto his shorts. Literally. The big round part was sticking out of his fly. So Mardi Gras.

Jon snickered. Where the hell was a security camera when you need one?

Harry after that because his posse was getting anxious. Took three tries to pull him pop like a cork in a bottle. Man wiggled out wearing mud and boxer shorts printed with smiley faces.

Blind me now.

Finally? The prize at the bottom of the Crackerjack box. Jackson. Wearing even less. Seemed the good Doctor went commando. Who knew. Oh? And god? Jon sent up a quick prayer. Can we rethink that blindness thing? Cause this was one sight he was so NOT giving up.

"Jon!"

Danny. With a smile worth humping twenty billion miles for.

Jon snagged Hailey's field jacket to drape over Jackson's shoulders. For warmth. And if it was little too short? Not Jon's fault.

"Jackson."

Jon did NOT hug the man. Because they barely knew each other. And because maybe half the planet was watching. And because... while Ferretti might not get suspicious if Jon tackled Danny to the ground General O'Neill undoubtedly would. Damn the paranoid bastard. Just because ... yeh... Jon sorta did want to lick every raindrop off of that tanned chest. So what? Wasn't exactly an exclusive idea, and if Jack Sr. hadn't had the balls to move in on such a high value target? Not Jon's fault. And if Jack Sr. had made a move? That wasn't Jon's problem either. Except that the older version was as nasty-minded as the younger, and so might just make it a problem. Thus the no-hugging. Yet. In public.

"You OK?" Cautious didn't mean Jon couldn't step over and offer a hand. And an arm. And a shoulder. And a little body heat.

"We're all fine. Just... dusty." Daniel Jackson shifted around, checking out his crew. Very responsible, even if not just exactly what Jon wanted the man checking out. "And muddy. And... oh bloody... Jon! The inscriptions!"

Jackson's eyes were snake-narrow as he surveyed the blast zone.

"No sweat." Jon hurried the crew back to Ferretti's turf. "We'll send Hailey back to Cheyenne for a big pot of glue. You'll have this place stuck back together in no time."

\V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/

Mission accomplished, and then back to the castle for beer and brots. Local brew was dark and rich and made up for sharing a planet with Maybourne. Almost made up for sharing one with the General. Almost.

Old man two-star is all pressed shirt and dry boots and snuggled up with Carter looking like the pussy wouldn't melt in his mouth. He's got Danny on the the other side, babbling on about cultures and intersections and how this doesn't mean he shouldn't be going back down tomorrow.

General sits front-and-center being obvious about listening to none of the above. Double not listening to the Danny-goes-back-into-the-trap bit.

Life was not fair.

He gets the genius twins, and Jon got...

"More beer, milord?"

Well, there was that.

Wench in a dress cut down to Chulac. Danny would probably bitch at the 'inauthenticity' except... here is here and so whatever wenches wear here is authentically wenchwear in the here. Which logic made Jon's brain ache. As differentiated from the roast beast, which made his belly ache. In a good way.

Jon stabbed another slice of the really good probably-ain't-chicken.

Welcome back had been something out of Robin Hood. One of the cheap Saturday cartoon versions, not the classy BBC Hern-the-Hunter thing that Danny liked. Still. Horn. Drums. Cheering. Little kids throwing flowers. Weeds. Whatever. Lots of the hear-ye hear-ye stuff. King Arkhan had declared a day of feasting and merriment to celebrate the joyous return of - you guessed it - King Arkhan.

It wasn't that Harry didn't know that modesty was a virtue. It was just that Harry didn't have any virtues. Damn lucky his cook did.

Jon waved, and a lout clumped over with another plate of pie. Gwango fruit. Good stuff, that.

Harry must have though so too. He stuffed down a whole pie ( in addition to the other six courses ) before two of his wives had enough of the pig-out and hauled him off to bed.

Life was SO not fair!

With Harry gone, the party started winding down. Jon figured it for a good time to cut in on Carter. Grabbing one last nut-crusted drumstick (for the road) he eased though the clean up crew up to the 'A list' seats. General J and yummie-company.

"So. Sam." Jon slid into her personal space. "I get why the SGC thought the mission needed the gene thing, but I still don't see why me and not..?" A nod indicated Jack Senior.

"Like I said, the General was tied up."

"Literally." Jack O'Neill brushed theatrically at his ( too damn well tailored - what the fuck had happened to the man? ) sleeve. "Still got creases in the jacket."

Daniel Jackson patted the other sleeve, smiling softly. "As head of our people, Jack was the symbolic hostage for the return of their king. It's a classical diplomatic sort of thing."

Jon shook his head. Slowly. "The more I learn of diplomacy, the more I love C4."

Well, that answered that. So.

Team back. Check.

Big honking space gun. Check

Harry's hairy ass saved. That'd be a check.

Peaceful and harmonious understanding established between peoples. Ya sure you betcha.

Jon's work here was done.

Except for...

"One last question. Guys?"

"Yes?" Three voices responded.

"I gotta know. Which one of you..." ( Jon pointed two fingers, one at Sam and the other at Danny.) "Ya know. Which one is dating the General?"

"Kid!" Jack O'Neill pulled himself up to his 'how dare you impugn my people' height. Matched it with his 'I am offended at the very suggestion' face. Complete with the 'one more word and they will never find your body' glare.

Jon rolled his eyes.

"Please. I know me."

Jon slid closer to Daniel. "Jacko there had a big time letch for both of you. Way back before the big split-a-rooni. Nasty-hot dreams of killer-geek sandwich with flyboy filling. Just? Duty first. Snake stomping uber alles, ya know. But now I'm figuring." Jon smiled back at Sam. "The Goa'uld are goulash. He's in DC and with the both of you out of his chain of command thing? 'Cause don't tell me that 'Goa'uld gone, let's spit up the command team all over the continent, but let's leave the science guy behind to shoot people' was any sorta military logic.

No response to that. Not from Jack. Not from Danny. Not from Sam. Because? What could they say?

"So." Jon moved in. Confident. "Who'd he get?"

"Why do you care?" Sam. Sounding a bit defensive. Hummm?

Jon leaned her way. "Because, duh. Three minus two" ( He did a finger dance, suggesting first Jack-n-Dan, then her ) "leaves me to console the loser."

Sam shimmied towards Jon. Eyes bright. "You don't mind being the consultation prize?"

"For a prize like you?"

Sam licked her lips.

WOAH! Jon thought. Tonight was going to rock. He wondered if this big medieval rock pile came with big medieval beds, and what it would take to make Harry serve up one.

"I'm touched. Sincerely. But?" Sam patted Jon's head. "Bad news."

That answered that. Big Jack had finally jumped for Sam. The safer choice. So that left...

"Danny?"

Daniel rubbed Jon's shoulder. "Bad news."

"What?" Jon spun. Furious. If looked could kill, Homeword Security would'a been running a new-General-wanted add in the Tauri' Times. "NO! Both of them?"

General Jack O'Neill shrugged. The gesture both familiar and fucking infuriating. "Like you said..." Reaching out, he reeled in both his lovers.

Jon slumped. "Crap."

Greedy bastard, Jon mentally slammed his other self. Never could settle for anything less than total victory, could he?

"But the good news is" Sam slid her hand down Jon's cheek. The gesture wasn't blatant but it was... utterly intimate. "We already know we're all willing to share."

Jon's eyes flew from Sam to Dan. "Both?"

Then to a cat-grinning Jack.

Jon swallowed. Hard.

"All three?"

Jack's grin grew impossibly wider. Sam and Dan squeezed in, pressing Jon both front and rear. Happy blond brilliant sandwich with a god-he-loved-young-hormones fried-Jon filling.

With his last breath Jon gasped. "It wouldn't be too weird?"

Big Jack O'Neill moved in to take Jon's flank. Literally. "Weird. It's what we do."

"Sweet!"

\V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/

Later (much later) Jon elbowed his way up the mountain of fluffy pillows that had snow-drifted against the massive carved hardboard. Turned out that Harry's planet did indeed have honkin' huge medieval beds. Beds the size of feather-stuffed gym mats. Beds you could hold an orgy in. (Jon now had that verified by experimental proof.) Beds that could sleep four. Well, three sleepers and one guy sorta awake.

Sorta awake, completely shagged out, bruised-and-bitten in places that would'a make his human sexuality prof. blush, and for the record sir? Pleased with it all.

He now knew two things.

One, that SG-1 was great in bed. Impassioned, inventive, energetic. All the things they were outside of bed, just with more skin. And maybe slightly more moaning.

Two, that he had found his place in the universe. And he was gonna love it here!

--\V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/ ooo \V/--

©KKR 2006

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